Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [28]
"It's never too late to correct an error in form," O'Leary said firmly. "Now, you take these swords—primitive weapons, really. We ought to use something more up to date. Pistols, maybe; or—"
"You demand pistols?" Nicodaeus looked surprised.
"Why not pistols?" At least—O'Leary was thinking of the princess's eyes on him—he wouldn't look as silly missing with a pistol as he would with Alain chasing him around the courtyard slashing at his heels.
"Pistols it is, then," Nicodaeus was saying. "I trust suitable weapons are available?"
"In my room," O'Leary said. "A nice pair of weapons."
"As Sir Lafayette desires," one of Alain's seconds was saying. "Subject to Count Alain's agreement, of course."
"I'm sure the count won't want to chicken out at this point," O'Leary said. "Of course pistols are pretty lethal—" he broke off, suddenly aware of what he was saying. Pistols?
"On second thought, fellows—" he started.
"I've heard of them," Alain was nodding. "Like small muskets, held in the hand." He shot O'Leary a sharp look. "You spoke only of cold steel when you goaded me to this meeting, sirrah; now you raise the stakes."
"That's all right," O'Leary said hastily. "If you'd rather not—"
" . . . but I accept the gage," Alain declared flatly. "You're a more bloodthirsty rogue than I judged by the look of you, but I'll not cavil. Bring on these firearms!"
"Couldn't we just cut cards?" But Nicodaeus was already speaking to a mop-haired page, who darted away, looking eager.
Alain turned his back, walked off a few paces, spoke tightlipped to his seconds, who shot back looks at O'Leary. He shrugged apologetically, got scowls in return.
Nicodaeus was chewing his lip. "I like this not, Lafayette," he said. "With a lucky shot, he could blow your head off, even if you nailed him at the same time."
Lafayette nodded absently, his eyes half shut. He was remembering the pistols, picturing them as they lay snug in their jeweled holsters. He envisioned their internal workings, visualized the parts . . . His ability to manipulate the environment seemed to come in spells, but it was worth a try. Tricky business, at this range. He felt a reassuring flicker, faint but unmistakable—or was it? Perhaps it had just been a gust of wind.
The boy was back, breathing hard, holding out the black leather belt with its elegant bright-work and its burden of long-barreled pistols.
"I'll take those." Nicodaeus lifted the guns from the page's hands, crossed to the waiting count and offered both pistol butts. Alain drew one from its holster, hefted it, passed it to his seconds, who turned it over, wagged their heads, muttered together and handed it back. O'Leary took his, noted distractedly that it was a clip-fed automatic with a filed front sight. It looked deadly enough.
"What distance is customary, Lafayette?" Nicodaeus enquired in a whisper.
"Oh, about three paces ought to be enough."
"What?" Nicodaeus stared at him. "At that range, no one could miss!"
"That's the idea," O'Leary pointed out. "Let's get on with it." He licked his lips nervously, hardly hearing as Nicodaeus instructed both combatants to stand back to back, their weapons held at their sides, and at the signal to take three paces, turn and fire.
Alain stepped into position and stood stiffly, waiting. Lafayette backed up to him.
"All right, go!" Nicodaeus said firmly. O'Leary gulped, took a step, another, a third and whirled, raising the gun.
Alain's weapon was already up, pointed straight at O'Leary's heart. He saw the count's finger tighten on the trigger at the same instant that he sighted on the white blob of the other's shirt front and squeezed.
A jet of purple ink squirted in a long arc, scoring a dead center hit as a stream of red fluid from Alain's gun spattered on his own shoulder.
"I got you first!" O'Leary called cheerily, snapping another shot that arched across to catch Alain on the ear. It was a good, high-pressure jet, O'Leary noted approvingly. It followed the haughty count as he reeled back, played over his face and down the